The Path of Wolves
by Soledad
Summary: A very AU take on Oz' fate, set in my Pathways vampire xover universe. Starts right after Wild at Heart.
1. Chance Encounter Under a Bad Moon

**Chance Encounter Under a Bad Moon**

**by Soledad**

**A "Pathways in the Dark" story**

**Part 1 of the Oz story arc, "The Path of Wolves"**

**Timeline:** immediately after "Wild at Heart", in the 4th season of "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer". A detailed introduction with background info is posted to the hiddenrealms LJ community. The link is in my profile.

**Disclaimer:** The Buffyverse belongs to Joss Whedon. The White Wolf characters, vampire clans, etc., belong to Mark Rein-Hagen. Eric is based on the main character of the short-lived TV-series "The Crow". No money made, no copyright infringment intended.

**Rating:** 14, for now. Might get higher later.

* * *

It was already past sunset when Oz arrived at the outskirts of Los Angeles – and run out of fuel. He left Sunnydale in such a desperate hurry he didn't even check the tank – and was now in danger to get stuck on the highway. Fortunately, he detected a gas station about half a mile further. He parked the van and climbed out to get a refill.

Next to him, a leather-clad, long-haired young man of obviously Native American descent was doing the same.

There was something strange about this guy, something Oz couldn't exactly put his finger on. He was a biker, there couldn't be any doubt about that, most likely even living on the roads, but that wasn't what caught Oz' eye. The slightly slanted eyes above those broad cheekbones told about wisdom and knowledge, far beyond the guy's apparent age. His movements were easy and smooth, revealing not only great physical strength but also showing a cat-like quality only possessed by martial arts-experts.

Their eyes met, and the stranger, having finished refilling his tank, leaned comfortably against his safely-parked, heavy bike, crossing muscular arms over his broad chest. Now turned fully towards Oz, the younger man could see his black T-shirt and a silver necklace – actually more like a narrow collar – with a beautifully crafted wolf's head in the middle of it, right at his throat.

"You're new in the City, aren't you?" he asked with a deep, pleasantly rough voice. He had a slight accent Oz couldn't quite recognize, perhaps one from his Native tribe.

"I've been here earlier," the werewolf answered carefully.

Which was true, of course. It had only been about half a year ago that the "Dingoes" came to LA for a gig – and that, to Buffy's request, he'd brought Angel the Ring of Amarra. The same one that'd had Angel kidnapped, tortured and almost killed. The same one the souled vampire destroyed shortly thereafter.

Since then, Oz' seemingly simple and uncomplicated life had been turned upside down with a violence that made him leave the town he was born and raised in, to run away from the girl he loved more than anyone or anything, to save her from himself.

"Yeah," he repeated softly, thoughtfully. "I _have_ been here before."

The other man scrutinized him with an intensity that made him increasingly uncomfortable, as if the Indian had read his mind or something. Maybe he was psychic?

"But never like this," the stranger said, as if he'd had, in fact, read his thoughts. "Wherever you're coming from, you're not going back, are you? Not for a long time. Maybe never."

'What makes you think _that_?" Oz asked, secretly adding in thoughts. Not that any of it would be your business…

"You're right, it isn't," the other man nodded, then he said with a grin. "You're broadcasting your thoughts so loudly that even my mentor could hear them, forty miles from here. But you don't have to worry. I'm a road-runner, just like you."

"Well, I'm _not_," Oz said defensively. "Not usually, at least."

"I don't know about _usually_," the other man answered with a grin, "but you're definitely one of us _now_. The scent of the Wild is very strong on you; and you smell of blood and despair – he bent forward slightly and offered a broad, suspiciously cool hand. "My name's Eric. I've been called The Spirit Crow, however, ever since I returned from the death. My people are a bit suspicious about reincarnation."

"No surprise here," Oz squeezed the proffered hand shortly with his much smaller one. "you sure you actually _have_ returned from death? 'Cuz as cold as you are, I'd guess you haven't… not fully, at least. _Undead_ were more like it. You're a vampire, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," Eric answered openly, "but the returning from the death stuff had happened years _before_ my Embrace. I was… well, in a sense I still _am_… a Cherokee shaman. A rather strong one, mind you. As a mortal, I was already capable of taking on animal form, and I found my current… family with the help of my Garou friends."

Oz didn't understand why he was standing calmly, talking to an unknown vampire, after sunset at a deserted gas station. He had an odd feeling of familiarity towards this undead guy… _and_ his acute sense of danger hadn't kicked in yet, for some reason. Strange…

"What are those… Garou?" he finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Eric gave him a quick half-grin. "Beings like you. The ones humans call werewolves."

Oz was petrified with shock for a moment. "You know what I am?"

The other shrugged. "Of course. Every vampire could smell a Garou from at least twenty feet. It's an instinct – on both sides. I'm surprised that you haven't smelled _me_ right from the beginning. Most Garou have a rather… violent reaction when they smell one of us."

"Why?" Oz asked.

Eric became serious again. "Kindred… that's what we call ourselves…. And Garou don't get along very well. Garou believe strongly in defending the Earth Mother against environmental destruction, and they consider _us_ part of that destruction. They say, since we are undead, we are part of the Wyrm, against nature. Most Garou would attack and kill any vampire instinctively, without a thought… well, at least when they are in their true form."

"But you said you had wolf friends…"

"I still have. But in my case, it's different. Native American tribes are used to deal with animal people, and some of us shamans are shapeshifters by nature. What's even more important, I belong to Clan Gangrel. Our Clan is the only one that lives in mutual acceptance with our wolf brethren. We seldom dwell in cities, travel through wild places, often in wolf form… We've much in common with them. Some legends even say we'd had common ancestors."

Oz shook his head. "You're losing me, man."

Eric grinned again. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Not an easy concept to process in the middle of the night. Listen, I've got to wait for someone. Why don't we sit in there for a while," he gestured towards a tiny night café, just a few metres away, "and talk?"

Oz hesitated. Not that he didn't trust this guy – surprisingly enough, he actually did – but who knew who… or _what_ else was sitting in that café, waiting for a late dinner to walk in, Or for an early lunch, considering vampire hours.

Eric had read his thoughts again, it seemed, because he grinned at him once more.

"Don't worry," he said, "tonight I'm the only one here on a liquid diet. Until Ramona arrives, that is. But our Clan never feeds on Lupines, unless we are starving. Do I look like I'm starving?"

Oz took a look at the well-muscled man… creature… whatever – and grinned back.

"Not really," he admitted. "Okay, let's go. I'll just park the van over there."

"Yeah, I better bring my bike, too," Eric agreed. "I'd hate to lose my guitar to some long-fingered type."

Oz' ears perked up. "You play the guitar?"

"Hey, I'm a storyteller," Eric laughed. "My Clan brethren invite me to gatherings all the time to sing old ballads for them… or their favoured rock hits."

"Have you ever played in a band?" Oz inquired. "In your mortal days, I mean."

Eric shook his head. "Nah, always been more the lonely wolf… pardon the pun. Besides, if you're in shaman training, you don't have much time for frivolities. What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm in a band… well, have been, until recently. Was the lead guitarist of the 'Dingoes'."

"'Dingoes'?" Eric echoed with a raised eyebrow.. Oz shrugged.

"That's the name of the band: 'Dingoes Ate My Baby'. I used to transport the whole band _and_ the equipment in the van."

"But no more," Eric stated, after they'd parked their respective vehicles outside the night café and entered the small establishment together.

Oz shrugged again, a sad expression clouding his usually laconic face. "It's a long story."

"Tell me," Eric fetched two mugs of steaming coffee from the counter, placed one of them in front of Oz and sat opposite him on the other side of the small table. "I've got lots of time… and I won't get any older, you know," he added, laughing.

Oz glared at him, curiously. "How old _are_ you, really?"

Eric grinned and took a sip from his coffee. "I've been Embraced in 1911. At that time, I was thirty-one mortal years old."

"Cool," Oz decided; then he looked at Eric's mug. "Can you drink other things than…"

"… blood?" Eric finished the sentence. "Yeah, I can. Liquids are OK, they leave our bodies just as they came in. They won't nourish us in any way, though. I couldn't live on coffee. Or ice cream. Or chicken soup, you know."

"Then why do you drink it?"

"Coffee and alcohol work the same way for us as for mortals," Eric explained, "although we have a much higher tolerance for it. Besides," he added, grinning, "I like the taste."

"What about solids?" Oz asked. "can you eat solids?"

"I could," Eric made a sour face, "But I can't digest it. Let's not go there, it's not an appealing subject. You wanted to ask about the Garou anyway, I believe."

Oz nodded. "Yeah. You said things I don't get. I mean, like being a werewolf would be a… a permanent condition. I've been bitten, sure, but I'm only a wolf for three days a month."

"No, you aren't," Eric said. "Being bitten, simply, wouldn't make you a werewolf, no more than it would make you a vampire. Even less so, in fact. _We_ start out as ordinary humans and need to be drained and then drink the _Vitae_… I mean, the blood of our Sire to Become what we are. _Your_ kin is born as Garou."

"_What_?" Oz almost choked on his coffee.

Eric gave him a compassionate look. "The wolf must have been in your family all the time. The bite only helped it to surface. You can't _make_ someone a Garou. Unlike with vampires, it's genetically inherited."

Oz frowned, still not really believing him. "Are you saying that I was determined to become a werewolf?"

"No," the other said patiently. "I'm saying that you always _have been_ one, ever since you were conceived. One of your family lines has to belong to the Garou kinfolk. You could have spent your entire life without even knowing it, though, if you hadn't been bitten," he sniffled the air discretely. "I can't recognize which tribe you belong to. The tribe signature is too weak. Tell me: can you change at will or does it come over you on its own?"

"You mean there _is_ a way to control the change?" Oz asked.

"There is," the vampire said," but it's tricky. _And_ it requires thorough and expert training. You can't learn it on your own."

"Where _can_ I learn it, then?" Oz asked. "Can you bring me to someone who could (and would) teach me to have the wolf under control?"

Eric thought about it for a second. "I can bring you to my mentor… my Sire, and we'll see then how we can continue. The question is: are you ready to follow me to a vampire nest, as you humans call it?"

"If it helps me to scratch my life back together… yeah, I'll go. I can't go on like this… and somehow I don't think you're gonna eat me for dinner."

Eric gave him that sly little grin again. "At least not without your permission. Wolf instincts working just fine, huh? You could sense if I were to hurt you, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Oz nodded, and to his own surprise, he knew that it was true.

"Fine. We'll go then, as soon as Ramona arrives."

"I'm here," the rough, smoky voice of a surprisingly young woman answered from behind them.

Oz looked up with interest. A tall, wiry, dark-skinned Latino woman – no, more like a girl, since she seemed to be hardly more than seventeen – approached their table. She was clad in black leather pants, knee-high leather boots and a short, sleeveless leather west, all decorated with small silver nails. Her short-cropped dark hair in spikes, long silver rings tangling from her ears and silver bracelets on her upper arms. She looked like someone who'd had a very hard life… or unlife… whatever.

"Ramona!" Eric smiled and stood to take her in his arms. They snuggled and kissed for a few moments, ignoring Oz with practiced ease. "I was getting worried."

"What for?" the girl shrugged. "I've survived on my own for two years before I found your family."

"I know you're a fighter," Eric pulled her down to the table. "Still, I like to be concerned a bit. I do care, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," the tough expression of the street kid softened a bit. "I'm just not used to it, that's all. No one has ever cared for me before, not even that freak of my Sire. What little I know about unlife, including my own powers and needs, I've mostly figured out of my own. Any leech who could teach me anything also wanted to control me."

"Each and any of them?" Eric asked quietly. "You really believe that?"

The girl shrugged. "My Sire made me, then left me alone and starving."

"That's the Gangrel way, Ramona, and you know that. It's our tradition to abandon our Childer, to see how they can survive on their own. If they do, and if they act with honour, one day we present ourselves to them and teach them the ways of the Kindred."

"Yeah? Where's Tanner been all the time, then? I had to avoid my mortal family for fear what I might do to them when the Thirst become unbearable. My only teachers were instinct, along with trial and error. Survival was a nightly struggle. Eventually, I found others like me – Eddie, Jen and Darnell – but they were young fools like me. And nothing was between us and the Sabbat out here in the night. No one told us about your haven. Or Eddie might still be alive… well, undead…"

"What happened?" Oz asked quietly.

"A Lupine ripped him to shreds in Texas," Ramona answered absently, too used to such tragedies in her young life to become really upset anymore. Then, as if she'd noticed Oz' presence for the first time, her nostrils flared. "_You_! You're one of them!"

"Yes, he is," Eric gripped her shoulders tightly. "Calm down.. He's one of the Lost Whelps. I'm bringing him home to Blackfeather. We were only waiting for you."

"You're bringing _that_ home?" Ramona repeated unbelievingly. "As in the same haven _I've_ planned to stay?"

"Oh, come on, Ramona! Sooner or later You'll have to learn to deal with the Garou, no matter what's happened to poor Eddie. Besides, the two of you won't be exactly staying under the same roof."

"What business do you have with him anyway?" Ramona demanded.

"He needs to learn about his own nature," Eric said, "… a lot. And Blackfeather is the best to teach him about the wolf. Well, aside from the Garou themselves, that is."

"I'm not really interested in the wolf," Oz admitted. "I'm only interested in losing it for good… no chance there, eh?"

"No, I'm afraid there isn't," the undead shaman sighed. "But you're making a mistake by not showing any interest for your wolf nature. Garou, as a rule, are deeply spiritual people who know the secrets of the Earth Mother to a degree nobody else does."

Ramona snorted in disgust. Eric shook his head.

"They _do_, Ramona. Of course, we're only dealing with the Uktena here, they are the only larger group resident in this area. There are some who can be outright hostile, others are born peacemakers or even great singers and storytellers. I'm sure we can find out which tribe you belong to. And our Uktena friends can teach you how to gain control over the Change."

"I'd like _that_," Oz said in a small voice. "Still, I wish I could lead a human life… as much as possible."

The Spirit Crow gave him a compassionate look.

"There will always be restrictions, you know," he warned. "Even if you manage to master the Change. You might be more human-like than we are, but you still _aren't_ human. Not anymore."

"I know," Oz nodded glumly. "Control would be… sufficient, though."

"Okay," the Crow stood, pulling the girl up with him. "I'll take you to my Sire. He owns a drive-in motel, only forty miles from here… officially, at least. In fact, it's a gathering place for those of our Clan who're still in LA, _and_ a place where we regularly meet our Lupine brethren. Follow me!"

* * *

Oz stood obediently and followed the Cherokee vampire and his Latino girlfriend out into the night to their waiting vehicles. Climbing into his van, he saw that Ramona, too, had a heavy bike and rode it without a helm; it had to be a Gangrel thing, whatever it meant. During the almost forty miles long drive, Oz repeatedly asked himself if he was doing the right thing – or probably will end up as a snack for his newly found buddies. Still, he strange feeling that he could trust Eric wouldn't fade, and although he was tempted to turn back several times, in the end he did not.

Finally, they reached a solidly built old drive-in motel called _The Wolfpup's Den_ that was bordering a wooded area – not uncommon in several of the detached parts of LA. The two bikers guided him to the main building that was built like an Indian longhouse, rightly decorated with traditional symbol sand pictograms. They parked right outside the house and went directly to the owner's office.

They were greeted by a middle-aged, round-faced Cherokee man, who wore his slightly greying, shiny black hair in a long ponytail and was clad in jeans, moccasins and a traditionally decorated, soft leather shirt. On his neck, he wore a wampum, made of black and white seashells, He smoked a pipe and had a peaceful expression on his face.

"Welcome home, Childe," he said in a deep, smooth voice, after exchanging some kind of tribal greeting with Eric, the meaning which Oz couldn't figure out. "Ramona, it's good to see you again. Madame Zorza was getting worried. Where have the two of you been so long? I've expected you hours ago."

"We… _I had_ a rather… interesting encounter," the Crow repeated. "With this young man here. His name's Oz, and he's a Garou."

"I can smell _that_," the older vampire replied dryly; then he sniffled in a discreet manner. "I don't think he's an Uktena, though."

Eric nodded. "Neither do I. In fact, I can't recognize any tribe signature on him, and h has no idea whatsoever. Maybe our friends can help him – or _you_ can."

For a moment, the older man watched Oz silently, as if he wanted to look directly in his heart. Then he extended a hand.

"Welcome to my haven, brother wolf. I'm Edward Blackfeather of Clan Gangrel, a Kindred… a being you would call a vampire," he paused for another moment and added, somewhat surprised. "This doesn't seem to bother you."

"I've grown up at the Hellmouth," Oz replied with a shrug. "You're not the first one I've seen… although we were rather on a bite/stake level of relationship with your kind… except with Angel, that is."

"Angelus?" Blackfeather repeated, even more surprised. "You know Angelus?"

"He prefers Angel in these days," Oz said, "but yeah, I know him. Quite well, actually. I was a friend of the Slayer he worked with… sort of." He shut up, realizing that telling a bunch of _vampires_ that he was best buddies with the Slayer was probably not the wisest thing. Blackfeather didn't seem all too disturbed, though.

"You were? But you aren't anymore?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me," Blackfeather pointed to a comfortable chair. "I've got all the time in the world, and we, Gangrel, love long stories. Unless you're really tired, of course. In which case we can do it tomorrow night."

Oz shook his head. "Nah, I'd like to get over with it. 'Sides, I owe the story Eric here… we never came to it at the gas station."

Blackfeather tilted his head. "You met at a gas station? Now _that_'s a story worth telling on its own. But let me first call for the Elder, will you? He might be interested as well, and he has a lot more experience than I do."

Oz had no objections, and Eric went to fetch his grand-Sire and the other members of their undead family. Ramona, being of a different bloodline and not even remotely interested in wolf stories, left them to find the aforementioned Madame Zorza (whoever she might have been; presumably another vampire). Blackfeather brewed fresh herbal tea for all and ushered Oz into a room joined with his office: a long and large room, with low, broad benches running around along the four walls, here and there with sewn-up tree trunks instead of small coffee tables.

Slowly, one after another, half a dozen people filed in, men and women alike, of different age. It had to be a well-populated bloodline, either extremely well organized or without enemies among their own kind, that they dared to live all on the same spot.

The leader was, undoubtedly, the elderly-looking, white-haired man in faded yeans and a chequered flannel shirt whom Eric respectfully led into the room. The old man sat cross-legged on the bench, across the entrance door, waving his Childer and grand-Childer to sit as well.

"Greetings, young wolf," he said to Oz, his voice heavy with age but not the least weak or brittle. "I'm called Talking Water, and I'm the eldest member of Clan Gangrel in this City. I was already around when the first white settlers came… I was the one who greeted them in Virginia. I was bound to our wolf brethren even before that. So, you can be open with us. We mean you no harm."

Strange as it seemed, Oz tended to believe him. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit… uneasy with so many vampires in the same room. Talking water seemed to understand his discomfort.

"Let me tell you a bit about us first," he said. "We of Clan Gangrel are wandering nomadic vampires who generally prefer the countryside to the city. We typically speak to and control animals, are tough and resilient… and masters of shape change. All of us can take on the form of wolves or birds of prey.

Oz raised a small hand. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course," the old Indian nodded.

"What exactly _is_ a Clan?"

"A Clan is a group of vampires who share similar traits and, in most cases, a similar outlook. There are two sects of belief that members of the different Clans belong: the Camarilla and the Sabbat. They are at war with each other due to a difference of beliefs."

"What difference?" Oz asked,

"The Camarilla seeks to maintain the Masquerade and keep Kindred safe from the prying eyes of mortals everywhere. And though hey view mortals as pawns, they do not harm mortals unnecessary. For the Sabbat, mortals are sheep and they are the shepherds," Talking Water explained.

"I see," Oz said calmly. "And you are…"

"We used to be a Clan of the Camarilla, until our Justicar pulled us out of the sect, in 1999," Talking Water replied. "Now we are an independent Clan and trying to keep out of the Clan wars."

"Oh. And how comes you're friends with the werewolves?"

"Hmmm, let's take a brief look at our Clan history. The founder of our Clan was, as the legend says, Ennoia. She's one of the three child of Lilith, Adam's first wife. Ennoia had many children, and from these children descended both the gypsies and the Lupines, or so it's said. Eventually, Ennoia was Embraced by Caine's childe Hren, and became the mother of the Clan we are of today. We are all her Childer. Since that time we have ranged far and wide, always the first Clan to go where those other citified vampires wouldn't stick their noses without a proper mortal herd and the creature comforts they so depend on. We share the wilds with many creatures… including our two-skinned brethren whom you, too, belong., It's a truly wonderful thing to run as wolves in a pack with them and to howl to the moon…"

"Unfortunately, their stubbornness makes them hard to deal with," Blackfeather added with a wry face. "They often forget (or choose to deny) that we all come from the same mother, and they would war with us over their stupid pride."

"Not all of them," a very young girl protested gently. "What about our Uktena friends?"

"They're different," Blackfeather admitted, "but only because they are Indians as well. Our human sides bring us more understanding than our shared heritage." He paused, then added. "Now that you do have an idea whom you're dealing with, young wolf, maybe it's time to tell us your story."

"There isn't much of a story," Oz shrugged. "My parents died in a car accident when I was still a baby. An aunt, the younger sister of Mom took me and raised me. I joined my band when I was fourteen and moved in with my friend, Devon, when I was fifteen. A year later, I met Willow. Shortly thereafter I was bitten by my little cousin, Geordi, and by the next full moon…. Well, you can guess what happened."

"Tell us anyway," Blackfeather urged gently.

"I don't really _know_ what happened," Oz sighed. "When the Change comes, my human mind seems to shut down. I can't remember a thing what I do when I'm in wolf form. But the gang says I didn't hurt anyone at the first time, and we worked out a solution: they put me in a cage for the three critical days of the month."

"Crude but efficient," Talking Water commented with a grandfatherly smile.

"Yeah," Oz nodded. "But a few weeks ago, I.. I run into a female werewolf. She was very… possessive about me. She was also ruthless, killing and eating people, every time when she Changed. Then, finally, she tried to kill Willow, so that she wouldn't stand between us anymore."

"Willow… is your girlfriend?" Eric asked in a surprisingly gentle manner.

Oz slumped in his seat, his young face haunted. "She was… she _is_ the love of my life. I couldn't let Veruca kill her."

"_Veruca_?" Blackfeather repeated sharply. "This story is just getting more and more strange. Your path is certainly not an easy one. Facing the First Change alone, living in a cage like an animal at every full moon… and Veruca being the first of your kinfolk you've ever encountered…"

"You _knew_ her?" Oz asked, stunned.

The Gangrel nodded. "Every Garou in California knows about this place, and they pass my address along themselves. This is neutral territory: a safe haven for all creatures, even for humans. Veruca stayed here several times. Our Uktena friends tried to teach her the proper way, but her passions and bloodlust overwhelmed here."

"She's one of the Fianna," one of the women said, "a great singer and warrior, but without guidance, not able to control her wild passions. A tragedy was inevitable, sooner or later."

Oz paled. "You know what happened?"

The woman shook her head. "No, but I can guess. She threatened the girl you love… you ran away… Is she dead?"

"We fought," Oz murmured. "I remember her broken body… her throat torn open… her eyes broken… But the next day, the corpse was gone."

"Were you in wolf form during your fight?" Talking Water asked.

Oz nodded. "That was the first time that I Changed by daylight. I killed her to save Willow."

"Have you mated before?" the ancient Indian continued the inquiry. Oz nodded again.

"Yes. I couldn't resist her, no matter how much I wanted to."

"In your human form or as wolves?"

"As wolves. Willow… she caught us on the next morning. We… we broke up… sort of. She felt betrayed, and I… I just ran away. I didn't want to endanger her any more."

"That," Blackfeather said, "was a very wise decision, young wolf. In their true form, only silver can kill the Garou – _or_ you have to rip the heart out of their bodies. That's why _we_ always change when one of them attacks us."

"Does it mean that Veruca… might still be alive?" Oz asked in shock.

The medicine man nodded. "Possibly, yes. A Garou as strong and resilient as she was might have survived and escaped. And if she lives, there's only one place she could flee."

"Her own kinfolk," Oz whispered. "Your friends."

"Yes," Blackfeather agreed. "We'll ask the Uktena about her… but you have to realize, that since you've mated with her, in Garou terms she does have a claim on you."

"She's… _what_?"

"By the Garou, the females act on instinct when they choose their mates – and they mate for a lifetime. If Veruca survived, she might or might not insist on keeping your mating bond. It's hard to say. Families that deny their wolf nature, or don't even know of it, can't give their offspring proper guidance. The Lost Whelps are often highly unstable and utterly unpredictable."

"What if she's alive and insists on keeping the bond?"

"Then, young wolf, you won't have any other choice than accept her, just as you've accepted her offer not so long ago."

"But… but she's a killer! She's ruthless and blood-thirsty and selfish… at times hardly more than a mindless animal."

"The Uktena won't let her run out on her own again," Talking Water said. "But you can't reject her, if she still wants you. You've lost that right when you accepted her offer. She's you mate now. If you listen to your heart, you can feel it, too."

"No, I don't," Oz replied stubbornly. "If I stay with her, I'd end up just like she is. I won't become an animal. There has to be a way out of this mess."

All eyes turned to the medicine man, but Blackfeather only shook his head in sympathy, "I'm afraid there isn't, young wolf. The most you can hope for is to tame your Beast, but it won't go away. Just like ours doesn't."

"Then that's what I'll do," Oz said. "If Angel could learn to live on animal blood, I can learn to control the wolf, too."

The vampires exchanged surprised looks.

"We've heard about it," Talking Water said finally. "It's a rare thing for an Anarch… especially from the Order of Aurelius. His bloodline usually produced the most vicious monsters of our kind. But he's said to have been turned against his own people since the Ravnos curse."

"I don't think he'd do anything to harm _you_, Oz answered. "He only tries to protect the innocent. We used to fight together in Sunnydale."

"Are you planning to visit him?" Blackfeather asked.

Oz shrugged. "I might. But I wouldn't like to meet his secretary. She's a friend of Willow's… well, sort of… and I don't want anybody to know where I am. Besides, Angel can handle me, even if I Change. His human friends might not."

"That is true, in both accounts," Blackfeather nodded. "But you can stay here, with us, if you want."

Oz shook his head. "Thanks, but no, thanks. I'll try to find a job and switch from Sunnydale UC to UCLA. I intend to continue my studies and to try living like… like normal people. No offence."

The Gangrel nodded. "None taken. If anyone, we understand the need of independence… and the longing for a normal life, however futile it is. For the time being, though, you should stay here. Rest for the night and the next day. Tomorrow, we'll call our wolf brethren and talk about your problem. Then I'll ask Madame Zorza to read the cards for you."

"Who's Madame Zorza?"

"A highly respected Elder of our Clan here, in LA. Besides, she's a gypsy fortune teller and something of a witch. Not a very strong one, she only has a touch of he supernatural on her, but it's enough to read the cards for you – _if_ you agree, that is:"

Oz shrugged again. "Why not? Can't harm, might help."

"Good. Grace Lonetree will show you your room and bring you something to eat. Rest peaceful tonight; nothing can harm or disturb you under my roof."

Oz thanked the medicine man and followed a lovely young woman to the other end of the motel, where his room has already been prepared. Eric joined them and helped him carry his duffels from the van.

"I'll come for you tomorrow," the Spirit Crow promised. "We can exchange stories and songs before the time comes to meet your people."

"I'm still not so sure they're really _my_ people," Oz replied, "but thanks anyway."

Eric waved friendly and left, together with the young woman. Oz showered and went to back, lying awake for a long time and contemplating the weirdness of his life.

The End


	2. Detecting the Roots

**Detecting the Roots**

**by Soledad**

**A "Path of Wolves" story**

**Follows: "'Chance Encounter Under a Bad Moon"**

**Timeline:** immediately after "Wild at Heart" in Season 4 of "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer".

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see Part 01.

**Author's note:** Tonani is based on the similarly-named character from Stargate. All other Garou characters are mine.

* * *

In the next morning Oz awoke uncharacteristically late: It was almost 11 pm. He decided that he must have been a lot more exhausted than he'd originally thought, took another shower, put on some clean clothes (noticing that he would have to do something about his laundry, soon) and left his room to take a closer look at the vampire motel. He still couldn't believe he had followed a practically unknown bloodsucker here last night and spent many peaceful hours of sleep in the midst of a whole undead Clan.

The weather was cloudy – not an average day for South California – the sky dark grey, as if a thunderstorm were coming. Oz looked around for a place where he probably could find something to eat and detected a low-roofed building that looked like the typical saloon of a bad western. These vamps surely had a weird sense of humour. He approached carefully, when the twin doors swung outwards and Eric stepped out onto the open veranda.

The young shaman spotted Oz almost immediately and grinned. "Hi Oz, had a good night's sleep?"

"Nightmares, actually," the werewolf said. "Is this here what I think it is?"

"More or less," Eric grinned. "You hungry?"

"Starving."

"C'mon on in, then, Grace can make you a farmer's breakfast."

"I thought you didn't eat solids."

"We don't. But many of our guests do. This is an ordinary motel, you know. We have to earn our money somehow."

Oz looked at the undead biker doubtfully. "You work here?"

Eric laughed. "Nah, not here. I organize things for Blackfeather, order the food, pay the bills… that sort of work. Where I can be on my way all night. I couldn't settle down permanently. That's why they always send me to other cities in Clan business. Gangrel can travel in wild places, and I'm probably the most restless of all."

He ushered Oz into the saloon where several human customers were eating their breakfast and several others just sitting and sipping their tea or wine… or whatever was in the mugs they were holding. Eric seemed to read Oz' thoughts again, because he grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"Bottled stuff. We have an alliance with our mortal tribe. They give us supplies and we protect them: from the Sabbat, from Anarch gangs… _or_ from white people who try to take from them what little they have left."

"Is there a reservation?" Oz asked.

Eric nodded. "A small one. Cherokee and Coast Salish share the territory. The Uktena help protect their borders."

"Strange. Humans, vampires and werewolves working together…"

"Before we became what we are now, we all used to be the children of this country," Eric said, melancholy shadowing his broad face. "The spirits of the Earth and the water, the spirits of the animals still talk to us. It is something white people will never be able to understand. Not even our Clan brethren from different bloodlines. The Native tribes and these Uktena are closer to us than even other members of our own Clan. Thee are bonds of the Earth Mother, bonds of blood, bonds of the Sky Spirits. Nothing can separate us: not the Beast that lives in us, not the Change of our Lupine brethren, not death that takes our mortal brethren from our midst. We belong together, belong with this country… we are one."

There was a long silence between them, then Eric smiled again, slapped the younger – and much thinner – man's back and navigated him to an early table.

"Grace," he called good-naturedly, "this guy here is starving. Can you make him an ordinary breakfast?"

The lovely young Cherokee woman (a vampire, too, Oz remembered) looked out of the kitchen and laughed. "Sure. I saved him a good portion. Coming in a second. What about you?"

"I've already eaten," Eric answered, "but won't say no to a beer. Have you seen Ramona?"

"She's already left for Madame Zorza's," Grace called from the kitchen. "She wanted to reach her before it starts raining. They are planning some scrying or whatever. But our Father was asking for you. You should go to him around noon."

Oz looked at Eric in surprise. "Your _Father_?"

"It's an euphemism," Eric explained. "Serves the Masquerade. Calling him _Sire_ in the public would raise unwanted curiosity. We both are Blackfeather's Childer. Grace is much younger in Kindred terms, though… only for fifteen years in the Dark."

"May I ask you a… personal question?"

"Sure. I'll answer if I can."

"Fair enough. So… why have young people like Grace and yourself chose to… to become…"

"Kindred?" Eric suggested helpfully.

Oz nodded. "Yeah."

"It's different for everyone," Eric said. "For me, it was knowledge and the chance to live very long in this shape. To learn, to see things, to meet people, to listen to stories and tell stories indefinitely… to walk all the paths of the lands of my fathers and grandfathers… Grace, on the other hand, was dying. She grew up in the reservation, caught tuberculosis from the horrible housings there. She didn't want to become a walking skeleton and die slowly, piece by piece. There aren't many hospitals in the reservations, you know. So I took her to Blackfeather and she asked to be Embraced."

"Did she know what you were?"

"Of course. All our brethren in the reservation do. Still, relatively few of them ask for the Embrace."

"Have you never… you know, regretted it?"

"Me? Nah. Neither did Grace, Between the three kinds of our people, there isn't really that much difference."

"Except that of life or unlife… and the diet," Oz remarked dryly. Eric laughed.

"True. But the way we live our lives or unlives is basically very similar. Only that they do it in the Light and we do it in the Dark."

"And the werewolves?" Oz asked.

"Garou, my friend, or Lupines," Eric warned. "Don't insult your own people. Well, they are something in-between. The children of twilight, as they call themselves. Actually, it's very true."

"I see," Oz nodded his thanks to Grace Lonetree who'd just placed his breakfast in front of him and attacked the sausages, fried eggs, potatoes and other sorts of salty goodness with forced enthusiasm. Being reminded whom he was about to meet somehow killed his appetite. "So… when am I supposed to meet these guys?"

"In a couple of hours. Blackfeather called them first thing in the morning, but not all of their Elders live here, and some of them need time to arrive."

"How long?" Oz continued to force down his breakfast.

Eric gave him a curious look. He could clearly feel the younger man's anxiety.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked.

Oz shot him an irritated look. "I'm not…"

"Denial won't help you," Eric said patiently. "I can smell your fear. It's oozing out of your every pore."

Oz set his fork down. He was about to give the vampire a longer speech, and from a monosyllabic guy like himself, such things needed concentration.

"Look… Eric. I never asked to be a werewolf. Two years ago I even thought werewolves only existed in gothic novels. Actually, I thought the same thing about vampires three years ago; not that it matters. My… condition has been the constant source of fear and self-loathing for me, ever since I've been bitten. And now, I'm gonna meet the very thing I fear most… in a tenfold edition. I think I'm entitled to a little nervosity."

He grabbed the fork again and continued eating, without even noticing the taste. So much talking has made him even more nervous. Eric shook his head but wisely withheld and comment that might have crossed his mind. Oz finished his breakfast, washing down the aftertaste with a beer, then he looked around.

"Do you people have a pay phone here?"

"Yeah, but it's not exactly secure. Too many ears around," Eric fished a cell phone out of his pocket. "You can use mine."

He rose to leave but Oz stopped him with a light touch on his arm. "You can stay. It's not a secret, nor something particularly personal."

Without waiting for the vampire's reaction, he dialled the number he already knew by heart, having it repeated in his mind over and over during the long road trip from Sunnydale to LA.

"Angel Investigations," a light baritone said on the other end.

"Angel? Is that you?"

There was a short pause, then the vampire asked. "Oz?"

"Yeah. Are you alone?"

"At the moment, yes. Oz, where are you? Cordelia got a call from Willow and…"

"Wait," Oz interrupted. "Don't tell them I called!"

"Why not?" Angel asked, surprise clear in his voice.

"It's… complicated. Can we meet? I'll tell you everything."

There was another pause on the other end of the connection. Then…

"It's Thursday now… usually, we're closed on the weekends, unless something unexpected happens. We can talk on Saturday evening."

"Cool," Oz breathed in relief. "Where?"

"My place. I'll send Cordy home tomorrow and tell Doyle to stay away. You can come any time after four pm."

"Thanks."

"What for?" with that, Angel hung up and Oz gave the cell phone back to its owner.

Eric seemed impressed. "Whoa! You're really close, Angelus and you."

"Not really," Oz said, "but he's very reliable… unless he gets happy and loses his soul again."

"Nonsense," Eric said. "Nobody can lose their soul. If you lose your soul, you simply lie down and die. Or turn into a pile of dust, in case you're a vampire."

Oz gave him a strange look. "I always thought vampires have a demon inside them, not a soul."

Eric shook his head in exasperation. "You've seen too many Dracula movies. Vampires are souled creatures, just like humans… or Garou. The Beast (what you call a demon) is just a name for the blood lust we're all cursed with. When we're Embraced, we die as mortals and are reborn as Kindred. The transformation usually takes days; it's extremely painful and includes the soul as well. We don't lose our souls… they simply change with our bodies during the Becoming. When the transformation is complete, we have a different physiology," he extended a talon to illustrate his words, "as well as very different urges and needs."

"What needs?"

"Well, first of all the need for blood, of course. But the Clan characteristics emerge about that time – and we all become rather… sensual creatures. Blackfeather means the basic instincts have a much stronger grip on us than on humans."

"And werewolves? They, too, change their personality?"

"On a lesser level, yes. It's rather that hidden tribe instincts surface for the first time. But since you are _born_ what you fully become by the first Change, it's not so obvious."

"Good," Oz carried his dirty dishes back to the kitchen. "By the way, whom do I have to pay for the room and the food?"

Eric waved dismissively. "It's been taken care of. You're our guest."

"But…"

"But nothing. Turning down hospitality is a serious offence according to our customs. Do you want to offend our Elders?"

"N-no…"

"Then it's settled. Come on now, let's see where your guitar is and show me what you can do with it."

* * *

Oz agreed with that, and they went to Eric's home – a small wooden cabin halfway between the motel and the nearby wooded area. Decorated in the same traditional way as the longhouse had been – and spent a few very pleasant hours with playing their guitars and talking shop. Useful grips, tending equipment, writing music, improvisation... that sort of thing. Eric told him a few fascinating Indian legends about animal people – not only werewolves and other shape shifting creatures but sky spirits in animal form and mortals who could change into animals (like himself in his mortal days) too.

In these stories often was mentioned something Eric called "the spirit plane" – a concept that (in spite of his knowledge about Cordelia sharing her apartment with a ghost) was hard for Oz to grasp. Eric sounded as if walking on this so-called spirit plane would have been perfectly normal, at least for shamans and animal people, but for Oz, it was a bit more weirdness than he could process right now. He'd have loved to ask Eric about that "returning from death" thing that's earned the young shaman the name Spirit Crow but didn't dare to ask him about such a highly personal experience. Still, he hoped that one day Eric would feel him close enough to share it with him.

The weirdness of that thought struck him. Here he was, sitting comfortably with a _vampire_ he'd only met the previous night at a gas station, and they were talking shop and telling stories like old friends. _And_ he was waiting to meet a whole bunch of other _werewolves_, after having presumably killed the first one (beside himself) he'd ever met so far. Life was really getting way too weird. _Much_ too weird for his taste.

* * *

Eric interrupted himself in the middle of the story he was telling.

"Whoa! _That_ was fast!"

"What?" Oz asked.

The vampire pointed with his chin towards an almost painfully thin young girl who was approaching his house.

"That is Alyssa Red Deer. She lives in the reservation. She's Salish, and the Garou usually send her as their messenger. They must have gathered already."

Oz felt like panicking for a moment. "Are they coming here?"

Eric shook his head. "No… too many outsiders here. Usually, _we_ go to the reservation to meet them. Chief Cloud Dancing lets us use the roundhouse where the tribal Elders have their gatherings," seeing Oz' anxiety, he squeezed the narrow shoulder of the younger man encouragingly. "Don't worry. Blackfeather and I will accompany you."

For even a week earlier, Oz wouldn't have found the thought – being brought to a pack of werewolves by two practically strange vampires – overly soothing. But he couldn't help feeling a strange kinship towards the Gangrel in general and towards Eric in particular, so he simply nodded.

"Thanks, man."

* * *

The young girl Eric called Alyssa reached them in the meantime. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes made her young face look round, but now Oz could see that she was seriously malnourished. Life in the reservation must have been hard, indeed.

Eric smiled at the girl in a friendly manner.

"Alyssa! Haven't seen you for a ling time. Where have you been? You look a lot better than last time. Gained some weight, too."

_Gained some weight? Just how thin used she to be before?_ Oz wondered.

"I got a job from Una," the girl answered in a quiet, child-like voice. "Now I work two days after school and even get paid. It's fun, too."

"What sort of work? Babysitting?"

"No, I help her in the greenhouse. She says I'm good with plants. We're planning to build greenhouses in the reservation, once we solved the energy problem," she paused, smiling shyly. "She sent me to Blackfeather and you. The Garou Elders have arrived and are waiting for their young brother."

"Good. I'll go and fetch my Sire," Eric stood. "Are you coming back with us?"

Alyssa shook her head, "Not yet, I wanted to talk to Grace. Is she still in the kitchen?"

Eric shrugged. "I think so."

"Thanks," Alyssa gave Oz a shy smile. "See you later."

Eric didn't have to go and look for his Sire. Blackfeather, seeing Alyssa's arrival from the window of the longhouse, was already approaching them.

"Ready?" he asked.

Oz nodded, his throat suddenly tightening again.

"Good," Blackfeather said. "Now, watch!"

With that, the older man's features started to melt, and within seconds, he became a huge grey wolf with silver eyes.

"Gangrel are shapeshifters," Eric explained to a shocked Oz. "Actually, the members of several other Kindred Clans are, too. It's in our nature."

"But the clothes…."

"They change, too…. Into fur or feathers."

"How?"

"I honestly don't know. It just happens. Handy, too, so we don't have to run around naked when we change back."

Still smiling, he suddenly changed into a black crow and settled on Oz' shoulder. Blackfeather/Wolf watched them with twinkling silver eyes; then he threw his head back and howled – an eerie, floating sound that made Oz shiver… but this time not with fear. With anticipation.

Soon enough, a lonely answering howl came from the large, wooded area behind the motel. Blackfeather/Wolf looked at Oz over his shoulder and trotted away towards the woods. With Eric/Crow on his shoulder, Oz followed him.

* * *

They only walked a few hundred metres through the woods until they reached the reservation: a large eroded area in the middle of the woods, housing a small village that contained several dozen longhouses, always six of them surrounding the totem pole of that particular family, and a roundhouse at the far end. In the middle of the village, there were some shops and another building that must have been a school.

Blackfeather/Wolf led them directly to the roundhouse where a middle aged Salish man was waiting for them, in the company of half a dozen wolves of different size, colour and age. The Gangrel changed back to his human form and raised a hand.

"Greetings, Cloud Dancing. Thank you for letting us use your gathering place again."

The tried-faced Salish chief smiled.

"You're welcome, as always," he nodded towards Oz. "Is that he Lost Whelp? He seems a bit… uncomfortable."

"He is," Blackfeather agreed. "They always are, at first."

"I wish you luck then, young wolf, "Cloud Dancing now directed his words at Oz. "Feel free to use the house."

With that, he left, leaving them alone among themselves. As soon as he'd gone, the leader of the pack, a huge, snow-white female wolf trotted to Blackfeather and rubbed her head against the vampire's leg with gentle growls. Then she raised her front paws and turned into a tall, imposing, long-haired woman with unmistakable Native American features, clad in jeans and a leather shirt.

"Greetings," she said to Oz with a deep, pleasantly rough voice. "I'm Una Half Moon, the Alpha female of our group… you would probably say the pack leader of the local Uktena. I'm also a Coast Salish medicine woman and an old friend of Blackfeather's. Our Gangrel brethren say that you are one of us by species… may I scent you?"

Oz nodded mutely, and the woman hugged him in an almost maternal manner, sniffling discretely, trying to recognize his tribe signature.

"Well, you're not a Red Talon, thank the Earth Mother," she said after a while with obvious relief. "Those brutal aggressors are fault that humans have such horrid ideas about our kinfolk. Your scent isn't earthy enough for you being one of the Children of Gaia, either. Too bad, we could use more of them around. Your spirit is too peaceful for any of the martial tribes and _probably_ not passionate enough for the Fianna, although you _might_ be of Celtic descent. And I can still smell Veruca all over you. My guess would be one of the urban tribes: either the Glass Walkers or the Bone Gnawers."

"More likely the Walkers," one of her companions, too, changed – into a middle-aged, well-fed, good-natured Native American man. "He doesn't strike me as a homeless person, living on the streets."

"You might be right, Tonani," Una nodded. "But he is said to be a musician, _and_ he fought evil at the Hellmouth, so it isn't entirely out of question that he's a Fianna, after all. Why asren1t we able to recognize his tribe signature anyway?"

"There could be different reasons for that," the man called Tonani mused. "He can be of mixed heritage. Or the mating with Veruca in their true form could have overlapped his own scent... Or the bloodline could have weakened so far that it isn't recognizable anymore. Or… tell me, little brother, when have you Changed for the very first time?"

"About a year and a half," Oz said.

"And you are what? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Twenty, actually," Oz was used to people thinking him younger than he actually was.

"Oh. That's it, then. The First Change happened very late. Normally, you'd have gone through it at the same time when you reached adolescence, and your tribe characteristics would have fully developed by now."

"You mean, in Garou terms he's still a baby?" Eric asked having changed back to human form as well.

Walking into the roundhouse alongside him, Tonani nodded.

"More or less. Under normal circumstances, our children are kept under surveillance by the Elders for an average of six years, after the First Change. They learn how to live with it, how to control it, how to use the newly-emerged special abilities of the Garou, like travelling through the Umbra, and other things. Without guidance, a young Garou would go rogue and become little more than an animal."

"Is that what happened to Veruca? Oz asked.

"Yes. She wouldn't listen to us… she was too far gone already, having lived as a Garou among ignorant sheep for almost ten years. Maybe if she could have form a bond with one of us, we might have been able to bring her back to the proper path. Unfortunately, all our young males were already bound. We couldn't offer her anything worth to make the effort.

They reached the roundhouse, the other werewolves shifting to human form, too, sitting on the low benches that ran along the house walls. Una took the central seat, across the door; Tonani sat on her right with a very concerned Oz in tow.

"Is it too late for me, too?" the young man asked.

"No," Tonani said. "You're still new to this life, and you've been taking effective precautions, I heard. No, we can help you to learn walking our path properly."

"But you can't make me human again, can you?" Oz asked in quiet despair, hoping against any reason that the answer would be 'yes'.

Tonani shook his head, his dark eyes warm and compassionate.

"No," he said. "Let's face it, little brother, you've never _been_ human… not really. The wolf has always been part of you. It was just hiding."

"Can't you at least send it back to hiding again?" Oz knew he was clutching to straws but couldn't help it.

"No. Once it's awakened, it wills stay with you all your life," Una said, then he touched the young man's face, adding. "Don't be so upset, little brother. It's not a bad thing. Our existence is an old and honourable one. We are the last true children of the Earth Mother."

But Oz only shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not into that Greenpeace stuff… living in the woods and things like that…"

Tonani laughed, the deep, pleasant sound vibrating in his broad chest.

"You really think we live in the woods?" he asked.

"You don't?" Oz blinked in surprise.

The other werewolves, sitting in a loose circle, joined the laughter – as did the two vampires.

"Normally, we live in our human form and have our respective jobs," Una explained, still smiling. "Although most of us do, in fact, work in areas that try to repair the damage human lifestyle did to nature. I'm a botanist; Tonani is a homeopathic healer, my Beta here, Uinonah, is a landscape architect. But we all gather here when the moon reaches a new phase: to run in the woods, to sing and dance in the moonlight… to share our feelings, or experiences while walking the spirit plane of the Umbra."

Oz needed a few minutes to process _that_.

"So, you don't hunt and eat people while in wolf form?" he asked.

"Of course not," Una looked somewhat… insulted. "We all are in control of our wolf side… besides, the Uktena have always been one of the most peaceful tribes. We live in peace with the humans… even with the Leech," she added, grinning at the vampires.

Not knowing the less-than-flattering nickname werewolves used when talking about vampires, Oz only blinked in confusion, until Blackfeather took pity on him.

"Kindred and Garou normally don't go along very well," he reminded the younger man. "Most of them consider us part of the Wyrm, a violation of nature, because it doesn't get into those thick skulls of them that we've been around longer than humans have. Anyway, there had always been bloody skirmishes or even serious fights between our people. The Gangrel are the only Clan our Lupine brethren tolerate in their territory, because we, too, have very tight bonds with the Earth Mother."

"So whenever I run into a vampire, I can expect them to attack me on instinct?" Oz asked.

"Wearing your human form is considered a sign of your peaceful intentions," Blackfeather said, "but if I were you, I really won't use the word 'vampire' around our kind. It's the same thing as when the Garou call us Leech – not very flattering, and some of us might react to it badly."

"Why? The ones I met in Sunnydale were proud of being vampires. They never called themselves anything else."

"The ones living at the Hellmouth are Sabbat monsters or clanless Anarch," Blackfeather answered. "The civilized half of our kind prefers the name Kindred, as Eric has already told you. We have our own society, populating the Dark, with our own rules and laws. It never hurts to show some respect towards a species that is older than mankind."

Oz blushed. "Sorry… How come I never heard about you before?"

"We look into it that morals don't discover our existence," Eric injected. "Well, most of them, anyway. We blend in, in order to stay safe from demon hunters. That's what we call the Masquerade."

"Then why are you telling _me_ all this?"

"You're not human," Blackfeather pointed out. "As potential target of the very same demon hunters, you need to know who your allies are. So learn this: if in trouble, you can always count on the help of Clan Gangrel. Come here!"

Oz obeyed, and the Cherokee vampire grabbed his shoulders, rubbing his own face against Oz's spiky hair.

"Make yourself familiar with our scent, so you can recognize it if you need to. Each individual smells differently, of course, but Kindred Clans have their unique signature, each. This is ours. You'd find that Gangrel and Garou _do_ smell a lot alike. AS Talking Water told you, our people are related."

"You shouldn't fill the head of the whelp with the obscure legends of the Leech," an old, grumpy-faced male werewolf commented from the background. "He is failed enough as he is. Among _my_ people, he'd be eliminated as a hopeless failure."

Seeing the hard, unforgiving expression on the old one's face, Oz started panicking again, but Una laid a reassuring hand upon his forearm.

"Don't let Forgotten Teeth intimidate you, little brother," she said, shooting a warning look towards the old male. "He's a Wendigo, from a tribe of exclusively Native American Garou. They live in the northernmost portions of North America, where they endure some of the harshest conditions on Earth. This makes them hard survivors, but also clouds their view of the greatest picture."

"Forgotten Teeth has no vote in our circle," Tonani added, smiling. "He's only visiting here."

"Just how many tribes of you are there?" Oz asked, partially relieved.

"Of _us_, you mean?" Tonani corrected. "Twelve, actually. But it's mostly our people who live in LA – save from a few strays of other tribes."

"And you are the Uk… Ukena?"

"_Uktena_. You'll have to learn the names properly," Una warned. "Otherwise, you'll be insulting your brethren. It's not something that is being taken lightly. Our traditions are sacred to us."

"Oh. Sorry. So, you're all Native Americans, too?"

Tonani shook his head, smiling again. For a presumably stoic Indian – _and_ a werewolf – the guy smiled a lot. Oz began to like him.

"No. Animalistic people from every corner of the Earth Mother have contributed to our tribe. It's just a coincidence that our local group turned out so homogenous. Usually, the Uktena are ethnically diverse and quite eclectic."

"_And_ intensely curious," Blackfeather added. "They hoard knowledge of magic from all over the world as well as deep understanding of the occult. But since they are _very_ responsible people and don't share their wisdom with outsiders, they are something of a mystery, even in the eyes of the other Garou."

Oz looked at the deceivingly ordinary-looking people around him and shook his head in disbelief. It was more than he could process at the moment. Ever since he'd run into Eric at the gas station, he'd been feeling constantly overwhelmed.

Una smiled, sensing his confusion. "Don't worry, little brother. You'll learn it along the way. But first we need to verify which tribe you are from; it's important that you be taught the specific traditions of your own kind."

"You can do that? How?"

"During the Crescent Moon Dance, in about twelve days. It will help you to change into wolf form. In your true shape we can recognize it immediately. Do you have any plans for the next few days?"

"Well, I want to see Angel, then find a job and a place to live, and switch schools so that I can continue my studies."

"He wants to see _Angelus_, "Forgotten Teeth grumbled. "The most vicious of all Leeches. I tell you Una, this whelp has been seriously infested by the _Wyrm_. You should eradicate him, for your own protection."

Una's eyes started burning in an unholy yellowish-green.

"Forgotten Teeth, I have offered you hospitality, out of respect for your age and honourable deeds, but I won't tolerate your interfering with tribal business. It's _my_ right to decide what we'll do with the whelp, and I decided to give him a fair chance."

"He slaughtered his own mate to protect a human!" Forgotten Teeth growled. "He even _thinks_ he is a human. He's Failed."

"He's confused," Una corrected. "All Lost Whelps are, at the beginning. We'll teach him everything he needs to survive. Then, if he chooses to stay with us, we'll offer him a place among his kinfolk. If he'd rather try to continue his former life, we'll respect that decision, too. The time when we ripped out each other's throats because of different opinions is over. At least here, in our territory."

She turned to Oz, calming down considerably and taking on the same motherly manner as before.

"I've selected Tonani to be your tutor. He has vast experience in teaching young whelps, and he's very patient. Since you seem to be more comfortable with the Gangrel, at least for the time being, he'll go to you to the motel. I strongly advice you to stay there, at least until the Dance."

"He can stay as long as he wants," Blackfeather assured. "We believe that his running into Eric was a sign of Fate. The Elders decided to take him in as one of our own."

Una nodded, keeping her eyes on Oz.

"Yes, I can feel that this one carries a strong destiny with him. He's been touched by the supernatural in several different ways. He might be instrumental in fighting the Apocalypse. Take good care of him, Gangrel."

"We will," Blackfeather promised. "I'll have Eric accompany him whenever he leaves our laid – that way he'll be safe."

"Hey!" Oz protested. "I don't need a babysitter! I grew up at the Hellmouth and fought alongside the Slayer, you know."

"We know," Blackfeather smiled, "but in those cases, the Slayer was always around to protect you, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Well, here she isn't. So you'll have to compromise and ride with Eric."

Oz shrugged, still not completely persuaded of the necessity but too tired of the new impressions to fight right now. Besides, he really _did_ like Eric.

"Good, that's settled," Una rose from her seat. "We have to return to our respective jobs now. We've spent three days in the woods, we need to rest. Tonani will visit you in two days to prepare you for the Dance and give you some basic knowledge. Take care."

With that, the Garou changed back to their wolf form and disappeared into the woods without any further comment.

The End


	3. Interlude: SheWolf

**She-Wolf**

**by Soledad**

**A "Path of Wolves" story**

**Follows: "Detecting the Roots"**

**Timeline:** Contemporary with "Bachelor Party, in the 1st season of "Angel" and "Pangs" in the 4th season of "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer".

* * *

She was dying.

She was a true daughter of the Earth Mother, but touching Her bare body didn't give her the strength to drag herself to a safe den.

She was dying.

She had the mystic powers of the never-ending song in her heart, could make the hearts of others burn with it, but her ripped-out throat produced no sound anymore.

She was dying.

She was one of the Fianna, she'd chosen her mate in wild passion and merged with him under the full moon, but her Chosen One betrayed her and tore out her throat.

She was dying.

She embraced her destiny as the warrior of the Wyld, rejecting all signs of weakness – like pity or compassion – to become hard and superior, but he'd been defeated. Attacked and slaughtered by the One she'd been looking for for years. The One who should have been running on her side, sharing the songs, the fights and the passion with her.

She was dying.

Still in her True Form, too weak to change back into her human disguise, she dragged along her broken body in the woods with painful slowness. She didn't know how long she was slugging to the North… to the only place where she might find some help. The blood loss blissfully dulled the pain but it made her feel so very cold… and so weak…

She was dying.

She knew she had no chance to reach her goal in time. The way would have been much too long, even without her grave injuries. She was going to die, one way or another. If the wounds didn't kill her, the cold or the thirst would.

But she wasn't ready to give up just yet. Stubbornly, she set one wobbling paw after another, dragging herself further along. She might be dying, but she was determined to at least die on her feet, fighting Fate till her last tortured breath.

* * *

Note

: This part is still unfinished. The second half will be added, as soon as I come around to finish it. 


End file.
